Not the Games
by litlgaurdian
Summary: My name is Syrus. My function was to protect the system. The games we once used to train, but Clu has changed the way games are run and to many are dieing. Hear my story user. You know of my end, perhaps without knowing, now know my tale.
1. prolog chapter 1: Threatened

(A/N) basically just an idea I had while watching the movie for like the billionth time. Sometimes some things that seem so small and insignifigant can be so important and you'd never know it. Oh, one other thing, I never played the game so I don't know of all the things that happen there, part of this might go against that . . . . so if you played the game and watched the movie then ignore what you know from the game. If you've only seen the movie then yippie!

Oh, and as a second note, if you've read this before you'll notice the prolog is like completely different. That's because I wasn't quite happy with the first one and tried editing it to my liking and still didn't like it. So I completely flipped it changing it from Quorra's point of view after the movie to Flynn's point of view before the movie.

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><p>Copyright: All original tron and tron: legacy characters belong to Disney ( Tron, Clu, Flynn, Quorra, Gem, you know the list goes on). All refrences to games and the like in the real world belong to their respective owners (whenever and wherever they appear). All characters I create (Syrus, Pelanor, Garth, the like) belong to me.<p>

Summary: My name is Syrus

I was created strictly by the users for a game of their design. My purpose was to entertain the users by combining my abilities with several other programs similar to myself, but the creator tells me that that game was never meant to exist. My purpose has changed. I am now a leader of a great army, a militia of warriors living to protect our home, even at the cost of our lives. We lived in Tron city at the time, a city that was blossoming towards perfection. But we soon found perfection came with a terrible price. Now everything I know is falling apart. Every friend I ever had is being derezzed or sent in or disappears completely. The army is being transformed into something I cannot stand beside. And the one person I have ever seemed to have a connection with, something beyond programming as well as my understanding, faces death for a crime she could not prevent, her creation.

My name is Syrus and this is my story. Remember it well user. Remember me.

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><p>Not the Games<p>

Prolog/chapter 1

Threatened

For the world above it's been three years. Three long, long years since I founded Tron city. For me that time was long enough. For every program on the grid, who knows. Time passes differently for them as it does for me. Even I can feel it when I'm on the grid. Seconds seem long, sometimes stretched to a painful length, but at the same time days could pass without my ever being aware of it. I commit myself to coming down here once every few days for as long as the portal will allow me to stay. It's not an easy obligation, but with a little hardened will it's something I can manage.

Yet every time I come down here I'm amazed at what I end up seeing. Clu was the program I created to watch over the system while I was gone, and he did it with amazing precision. I could be gone for only a few days and on my return a whole new sector of city could be built if he saw fit. And Tron, for the most part was satisfied just being a simple function, but he never stopped being my friend.

Then, three years after Tron city started to thrive, we hit our first bump. A program came from outside the city, its power supply nearly depleated. We offered it shelter and returned it to full power. When I returned I found our kindness was not returned.

The program we gave aid was a virus, plain and simple, and any program that touched it became infected and went rouge, a danger to all. Tron and a few other programs were doing all they could to stop the spread and drive out the threat, but only when I joined them could they succeed.

It was at that time that it was decided that something should be done to prevent this from happening again. Clu was the first to make the suggestion that would become the right course of action: The city needed someone to protect it against all threats. If the world of users had several different branches of military specifically for the protection of their people why then could the grid not have their own?

I resolved to make an army for Tron City, one that would fight loyaly and bravely to the end, but how to go about doing it I wasn't sure. To create one or two programs on my own was effortless, but dozens? Alone it could not be done, not all at once. And so I devised a plan that would allow me to use Encom to create the programs that would become the grid's guardians.

It was just before I left that Tron approached me. I thanked him for his leadership in the short war against the virus, but I had known him for long enough to know something was wrong or, at least, bothering him. When he asked he said:

"Flynn, we've been friends for a long time, and you've known my function even before then. I'm a security program, I do my portion of protection for the system and I fight for the users whenever I have to."

"But?"

"But fighting is never something I wanted to do. I'd rather just monitor, plan, process, watch. Not fight."

"So why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I know you're going to do as Clu said and create an army for the system." He raised his hands, "I'm not saying I'm against it, not in any way, but if I know you then you're going to ask me to teach them, train them, and take them into battle. I would rather be a sort of medium between them and Clu, a rank above them, but never surpassing him."

"Then who do you suppose is going to lead this crew?" I asked

"I don't know. Choose one of the programs out of the army itself. Make him gifted, stronger, faster, smarter than the rest. Have him lead them."

I stood for a moment more then put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll think about it." I told him then left the grid knowing I had been there much longer than I should have been.

As I rode home I had a while to think about what Tron had asked for. It wasn't much, just a position that required him to be somewhere he wanted to be. And to be honest, I had never heard a program ask for something for themselves before. It was as if everything I asked them to do became their way of life. Because of that fact alone I would honor his request and choose a program from the new army to lead them. I wasn't sure exactly what gifts I would give him, but what wisdom and knowledge I had would be among him.

The gift of logic, of reason. A gift that allowed a program to think like a user. That would be my gift to him. I only wondered what effect that gift would have on the system.

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><p>(AN) Extremely short, I know. Never wrote something in first person before. Extreme difference from the first try. If you [i]really[/i] want to see the other one I don't mind if you drop me a line or tell me you want to see it in your review or something. I know it says prolog/chapter 1 but that's only because I want chapter 2 to be the next chapter to make things less confusing . . . Please review and thanks for reading! I do hope you enjoy reading my work as I do writing it! Oh, and one last thing. I think I'm going to start doing a trivia bit from each chapter, that'll be next

(Chapter Trivia!) Turns out if you do the math a mili-cycle is about 8 hours, like Flynn said in the movie. Naturall 1000 mili-cycles, since milli means 1000, would be a single cycle. Right? So one cycle would be 8000 hours which divides out to be 333.33 days. So basically a cycle is a little more than two months shorter than a year! But as far as I can tell programs are immortal (as far as age is concerned cuz we all know they can die) and don't sleep so I don't think that bothers them much.

Hope you enjoyed the remade prolog better than the other one! Read, review, carry on to the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 2: Identity

(A/N)Again, stuff I write about will probably contradict something you find in the games or something. Actually, I'm almost sure they will. But like I said, my works are based on the _movie_ and not the games/comics simply because I never played/read them. Enjoy again.

Chapter 2

Identity

There are very few ways to describe how a program comes into being within the grid. I learned after a great long while that the users are born, created between two users, and are made as a smaller, more immature version of a user. This method of birthing is unfamiliar to us programs.

My creation was slow, my process of taking shape being done over several weeks. My body being formed one slow pixel at a time. My residence was small and I was surrounded by many other programs like me beginning to form. As my mind continued to be molded I began to learn as my body became fully formed.

I learned I was Syrus. I learned my residence was known as Starblade, which, at the time, was an unfamiliar name. However I soon learned that Starblade was a kind of game for the users where we, the programs of the game, bent to their will, and that Starblade itself was a part of a much larger system known to the users as Encom. I learned that every other program with me was a part of Starblade. And I learned that I, Syrus, was a key part of Starblade and without me there would be no victory.

After my completion the users began to use me along with the other programs. I learned that Syrus was the name of a sword in this user game that the hero wielded into battle. Many times the game was halted because my programming malfunctioned in some way or another. I would be taken away, modified or in some cases reconstructed, to aid my malfunction. Many other programs underwent the same process until at last Starblade could be played seamlessly and without fail.

I performed my duty well. Users came to play Starblade almost non-stop and I was always needed. I was proud to fulfill my function within Starblade and it was a very long time before my popularity began to drop. It was a strange fading moment of activity where the users came less and less often and finally disappeared altogether. I was not alone in noticing the change, everyone in Starblade knew it. Because of my lack of use I was able to step into the outside world and see the system I was born into, a privilege I had not had before.

This glorious land that was my home was called Tron City. Buildings reached amazing heights power pulsing through them in a fantastic pale grey glow. The streets were populated with thousands of programs, each with functions for them to follow. Many programs passed me by without second glance. Others studied me for a moment then continued on. Only then did I compare myself to them.

I was not particularly tall compared to most of them, my skin a few shades darker, my hair the shade of night. My eyes I studied in the reflection of a nearby wall and found they were a strange combination of blue, green, and brown. My identity disk I removed and inspected. I had known it bore a distinct shade of green, but then so did the other programs in Starblade. I never realized the majority of the programs in this world were white. The lines of energy that trailed through my body were green as well. Personally I had thought the color suited me, but here, outside of Starblade and the training and programming that came with it, I stood out like a foreigner, a stranger in my own home.

At my hip I noted a sword, which I drew and examined as well. The hilt was amazingly crafted, streaks of gold spiraling across its length. At its end was a stone of brilliant green crafted into a complicated design in the shape of a creature I did not recognize, yet still knew was called a dragon. The blade itself carried a similar shade of emerald, if not paler, and pulsed as if with heartbeat. On its surface strange series of markings were engraved. Though I could not decipher its rune like language somehow I knew it bore my own name: Syrus. That was what the sword was named. It was as much a part of me as identification disk. However, I chose in that moment not to call it Syrus simply because I choose to reserve that name for myself. I would rename the sword when the time was right.

All attention drifted away from me after a time when a bright flash tore through the dark skies above. A line of pure white power stretched to regions unknown and many changed their courses to see it better. I, not knowing what was happening, followed. What stepped out of the brilliant light was a program. At the sight of him many cheered. Two other programs fell into place at his sides as though they belonged there. One looked exactly the same as the newcomer from his size to the golden brown waves of his hair even down to his clothes. The second looked to be the younger of the two. Like myself he too stood apart from the crowd due to the pale blue of his energy. The arriving program strode through the crowd, talking here and there then stopped when he caught sight of me.

"Greetings program." He said and I nodded my head returning his welcome. The program's eyes fell on my sword and I knew he was noting my difference in color compared to the others as well. "Betting you're Syrus then aren't you?"

"I am." I answered, a bit confused as to how he knew who I was being that I never seen him. Was news of the inner workings of Starblade so open for the entire city to notice? The program clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Name's Kevin Flynn," He said, "If ya haven't heard of me just yet you will soon enough. I actually wanted to see you." My eyes widened. I had heard of him, mainly through rumors within Starblade, but had never seen him before. The stories told about him, how he could build buildings, or tear them down, with only a few thoughts. How his touch could drain power from an entire sector, or bring precious life. If everything he had heard was true this program was more than so, he was more like a god. And this deity had returned to the land of his creation to meet with him.

"I would be honored," I told him dipping my head trying to be respectful yet feeling as though I still had no place even doing so much as speaking with a being such as himself.

"Great!" The creator said with a smile then wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I assumed it was simply a strange gesture of friendship between users and did not speak of it, partially out of fear of offending the creator. "Tron, Clu, take a walk." The two other programs walked away and eventually so did the crowd of others, returning to their functions. No doubt the users above would be angry their commands weren't met as quickly as they wanted due to this unknown distraction.

"Is there anything I have done wrong?" I asked Flynn after a moment. He had walked with me through the city streets. I took the opportunity to observe the landscape of what was now my home. Every building every window, every line on every wall was a detail sharp in my vision that stood clear in my mind. Flynn on the other hand did not gaze around as he walked, his gaze focused ahead of him and to his goal: an elevator.

"No, no, not that _you've _done wrong." He stopped within the small room and as the doors close and the floor began to rise spoke again, "Listen. I have some news that may not be well met by you or the rest of Starblade." Instinctively my hand tightened around my sword's hilt. "There isn't going to be a Starblade anymore. The project's being shut down."

"But what about my fellow programs? Will they face deresolution? And why are we being taken down so easily?"

"Because, your world is a game to ours. It was supposed to be a good one, better than Tron or Space Paranoids combined. Starblade was going to make history unlike anything the world's ever seen before"

"Then why are we being terminated?"

Flynn shrugged and looked off in the distance, "We had a few dozen test audiences come through. Apparently my awesome idea just wasn't as awesome as I thought. Kids today, guess they just don't play games like they used to. Swordsmen and intergalactic dogfights apparently don't cut it anymore. So they decided to shut it down before the company released it and suffered any losses."

"The company . . . " I pieced together pieces of information that had clustered through my mind. Most were fragments, disconnected from other knowledge, such as a name with no face or form to put it to. But every now and then he could connect them on his own. "Encom."

"Right. Encom. You're a smart one. That's good. I made you that way."

"You are my user?" I almost felt astounded. It was common knowledge that a program bore the image of his user, Clu was a clear enough example of that. Yet I looked nothing like the man who stood before me "I don't understand."

He shrugged again. The elevator had finally stopped and the doors opened. We stepped out onto a roof of one of the highest buildings in the city. From here all could be seen in all directions. To one side lay a baron stretch of stone. In the distance beyond the emptiness a pale yellow light hazed over the skyline, evidence of another system though I knew not how far away it was, nor did I feel the need to learn. To the other side a vast body of pure water extended as far as I could see. Lines of pulsing yellow energy criss-crossed over the sea, trails laid out for solar sailors to follow. "You were put together by a lot of users, one of them was me. I helped piece together your mind, gave you a sort of intelligence that the other programs in Starblade wouldn't have. Call it a gift."

"Might I ask why you would do this?" I looked at my hands, humbled by what he had bestowed upon me, "I offered nothing to be given this reward."

"No, but I wanted a special program to help me. I have Tron and Clu, now I thought I could use another. Thing is," He gestured to the city around them, "Right now me and the boys are working hard to create the perfect system. We're gonna change the world out there with this one in here. But there's one little thing that worries me. There's a little thing that gets in computers and messes them up. In the user's world we call them viruses. Down here I don't know what they're called or if anyone here'd even know. Long story short I've got me a worry that a virus might wiggle its way in here and cause us some more problems."

"And you want me to protect the city." I finished able to put together the conclusion myself. "Me and the rest of Starblade acting as a sort of military."

"Couldn't've said it better myself. Your original function to entertain users through your fancy sword there isn't your function anymore. Now it's to protect the city with it. So, What do you say? You in?"

I took no more than a moment to reply. He was my user, who was I to refuse even if I wanted to?" We would be honored to serve under you." I told him.

"Awesome. I'm counting on you man. Just remember that. I'm counting on you."

"There is more than just me." I reminded him, "Whenever the time comes that one of your viruses comes along the Starblade Militia will be there to end them. Every one of us."

"Its good hearing that. Between you and Clu and Tron I know the city is in good hands. Come on, lets head back. It's time the others met you."

After the elevator touched the ground the creator met with Tron and Clu and introduced me to them. Clu behaved almost exactly like the creator himself, almost without fail. Tron, he was different in a way I couldn't quite understand or explain. Perhaps it was some trait about his user I simply don't know about and therefore couldn't understand. After the introductions were settled and all knew that I was to lead the Starblade Militia the creator departed in the same brilliant light that he arrived in.

"First," Tron said making his way towards Starblade. Compared to the rest of the city the facility seemed small and inadequate - Something Clu had no doubt noticed – but was still good enough to fulfill the duties of all within, "I'd like to get acquainted with your men. If these are going to be the new protectors of the city we'll need to be sure they're well trained."

"How fast do you think they can be ready to defend the streets?" Clu asked as they entered.

"Shouldn't be more than a cycle." I answered not entirely sure if what I said was accurate. "The men already know the ways of combat due to the nature of Starblade itself."

"See if you could have them ready sooner." Clu told me, his voice stern, "If Flynn really thinks there is a threat of these viruses then we have to be ready before they arrive."

"I assure you, when the time comes my men will lay down their lives for the creator."

"See to it that they do." He nodded and turned to leave to return to his duties. Tron remained behind.

Finally I took the chance to thoroughly study the grid's hero. I had heard tale of how he, along with Flynn's help, defeated the master control program many cycles ago. But what I hear of him, how he had reflexes faster than light, strength to out match machine, seemed to be more legend than truth now that I saw him myself. I saw a program different than the ones I had become accustomed to living with. One who follows two purposes, one for his function, and another for the creator. And now, it seemed, he had taken on a third task in aiding me to organize the Starblade Militia. The result left a program worn and weary, something I saw only in his eyes in rare moments, for his performance did nothing to show such

There was a great many number of things to organize. The progress started slow simply because what Tron had said was true, he wanted to meet with each program that was going to be a part of the Starblade Militia. Most were confused at the orders, others did not think they were suitable for the task. Everyone, however, agreed they would defend the city to their end. After that there was training practices to perfect, routines to schedule, and minimal standards to set. When all was decided Clu returned to finalize what they had decided only doing so when he had made a few edits to maximize their efforts. They were left with a rigorous curriculum that would push every program to their limits for over two hundred milli-cycles and leave them hardened warriors.

I had almost agreed to this challenging process thinking there was no other way to make a program stronger. Tron had found another by looking to his past back to when the creator first arrived. He said he was captured and forced to play demanding games that put his life at risk and tested his every reflex and skill. A few of these games he revitalized, such as the disk wars and light cycle challenges, making edits here and there to ensure they didn't carry the same lethal threat as they did when Tron played them.

As the three of us discussed the concept of using games as training protocol their usefulness became more and more clear. Almost every detail Tron described gave benefit to them being used rather than some other exercise program. Every game suggested several different ways to test the future Starblade combatants, whether it be through speed, reflexes, power, or a number of other qualities. Competitors would be forced to compare themselves to another, thus encouraging them to push themselves faster and stronger. I was the one who suggested making the games, or at least the best of them, public. Allowing other programs to watch their progress might further encourage the militia in hopes of gaining fame. Clu disagreed claiming that doing such a thing would pull the existing programs from their duties to watch. Tron agreed pointing out that programs were already pulled away from their duties at times to frequent clubs or hold conversations. Either way he was outvoted.

"Everything seems to be in place." Tron said standing as the last detail, when to begin, was settled. Clu wanted to begin immedeatly, I wanted to wait to discuss the course with the creator. This debate Clu won on the grounds that his word was the word of Kevin Flynn in his absence. "Tomorrow we'll bring the recruits together, see how well they play games."

"One more thing," Clu put up his hand, "How will we know when the Starblade militia have achieved all they can? When will we know they meet perfection?"

Tron opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. I hesitated a moment to think, unsure of what should be said myself. Then the answer came to me. "Someone should compete against them." I suggested, "Someone outside the militia. Perhaps one of the viruses we are created to protect, harnessed safely within our walls."

"That'd be too dangerous." Tron told me. I was careful to note, but not question, the sterness in his voice as well as the instant of fear in his eyes, "If it got loose in the city there could be chaos. But what you say makes sense. I'll be the one to compete with them. I would say you, being that you're their leader, but I believe it should be someone outside of the militia itself so they could be judged properly."

I nodded. His words were logical.

"I too will participate in the games," Clu told them, "And you, Syrus, should probably play as well. It would be a shame if our skills dulled in this era of peace."

"Alright then. We'll start training within the next milli-cycle. When the creator returns we'll have something worth showing him."

(Chapter trivia!) From what I've been told back when the first tron came out programs were made by one person, thus Clu/Clu2 looking exactly like Kevin or Tron looking like Alan (the master control program being the only difference since he was a giant weird glowing cylinder thing instead of a walking program). Now individual programs are made by teams of people making multiple programs at once. So basically most of the programs are a blend of like ten or more people together

(A/N) So the games exist again, it's purpose's very different than either movies. Hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3: Let the games begin

(A/N) Special thanks to ScribeOfRED who sent in my first review! Makes me happy. Sorry about me and my senseless grammar. While I like the story part the nuts and bolts of writing never seem to be that strong with me. Now let's not waste time with any more of my gabbing shall we?

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Let the games begin

Training began just as soon as the discussion ended. Within milicycles the Militia – now only called so because Clu deemed the Starblade portion irrelevant – had immersed themselves completely in combat. In the beginning they mostly dueled against each other, each program taking up a different weapon each time until they were familiar with a variety of methods of destruction. As training continued it became clear that each program was better suited to a particular weapon and they immersed themselves in knowledge of that weapon. For me, as it seemed natural, it was the sword I was given since my creation. For Tron it was his disk.

Tron had overseen the gaming portion of their training. He began by constructing a grand stadium specifically for the games to be held. The building itself stood out from the rest of the city through its shape alone. The circular base was massively wide and gently sloped so the top of it was still circular, but less than a quarter of the size of the base. A vast network of chambers and passageways were constructed beneath the grid - for the first time in history – to allow storage for equipment and fixtures to be used in the games. It was in these passageways that a program would prepare for battle.

The games themselves became immensely popular the moment the doors opened. Simpler programs would fight each other for a chance to see them. Clu quickly developed a system that would allow every program, regardless of rank save for himself, Tron and I, equal chance to observe. In the beginning they were hard for the militia to grasp, Tron had intentionally made them difficult, but in the end they truly brought out the best of them.

Before a single cycle passed they were hardened, disciplined warriors capable of achieving the most dangerous of tasks.

It was a great long while more before the creator returned and tension may as well be visible among the newly formed, battle hardened militia. All were eager to prove their strength and skill to him, yet all feared that their training may not have been enough to please him. When he stepped from the portal his militia, his army, straightened their spines and raised their chins. His eyes widened.

"Now," He said with a hint of laughter in his voice, "There is no _way_ these are the same programs that were here last time I was here."

"They are." I corrected, "They have trained extensively since your departure. I believe they can handle any virus that would come anywhere near the city."

"Really now?" Flynn looked to Tron and Clu. "They really as good as he says?" A strange emotion passed through me, one I could not explain or attempt to understand. He had already asked me of their status, why did he need to ask the other two as well? Did he not trust me, or did he believe they would tell him something I had forgotten or misunderstood? Surly I performed my function to the best of my abilities, Clu himself was consistent in ensuring I did.

"He says right," Tron told him, "I've watched them compete many times. I haven't seen better games since you first came."

The creators eyebrows raised, almost in disbelief, "Do they," he took a few steps and stood before one of the soldiers in the front row. The program held perfectly still, his eyes forcibly locked ahead of him. Flynn's eyes, however, darted around him, studding anything he could through sight alone. Then his head snapped back towards Tron, "Wait, did you say games?"

"I did," Tron responded.

"You brought the games back to the system?"

"Many of the games you call 'classic' I did bring back. Then we made several others."

"Using the games has made the militia stronger than any other training procedure could have and in less time." Clu pointed out, "It seems that they have a powerful competitive side to them, unique to their function."

"Cool." His gaze swept over the entire group one last time, "So what now for them?" This time he looked to me and I chose each word carefully knowing I did not know the answer, yet knowing he expected me to. It was something I had thought about several times as it became clear they no longer needed the games or any other training, but had yet to inform either Clu or Tron.

"They will be divided," I started, "The first group will be stationed around the city, watching for any sign of viruses. The second will continue games to ensure their skill do not diminish. After a cycle the two will alternate."

Flynn nodded a few times, "Not a bad plan," He muttered, "Not a bad plan at all. And where does the training happen?"

"I can take you to the stadium right away."

"Stadium," he said the words almost to no one, as if contemplating them, "nice."

When the creator entered the arena the building itself seemed to breathe with his presence. It was an odd sensation for I had been there many, many times before, and every experience had been the same except for this one. Energy seemed to flow through the walls and floors with renewed strength. Shades of objects seemed slightly brighter. Bolts of lightning danced in the floor of the actual arena itself, a floor that altered its structure specific for the game to be played. Even I seemed to be in awe of the facility just as much as the creator as we walked.

I chose to show him the lower levels first. He seemed impressed with the way Tron had edited the original games. Vehicles were still stored within rods of energy just like they were before, but the models they used were upgraded to be faster, lighter, easier to use. Flynn seemed most pleased with the newer versions of the light cycles though he claimed they 'couldn't hold a candle to his.'

"And what's that room over there?" Flynn pointed at fairly empty room. The center of it was completely hollow. Along the walls, and in some cases within them, the many different plates of armor the programs wore for the different games were stored.

"This is where programs prepare for the games. Tron decided that each program will wear certain kinds of protective armor for each game to prevent deresolution."

"And how many different plate of armor are there?"

I hesitated, "each game requires a different kind of plate. Cycle challenges require thicker plates that can absorb impact while-"

"I asked how many there were, man."

This time my shoulders sank slightly, "I do not know. At least two hundred."

"And you expect the Starblade militia to remember them all?" He leaned back slightly in his stance, "We'll just have to change that."

"What do you mean?"

"The militia are here to fight, not memorize. I'll set you up with a few programs, say a dozen should be enough, designed to remember the armor and how to apply it and when. They could be weapon specialists as well. We'll call them . . . Sirins." The concept of the sirens amused me slightly. Though the armor and weapons were many there had only been a few incidents where some program had put on the wrong gear. Only once had one wore a lighter set, made for agility and speed, on a light cycle course and when the vehicle crashed he was derezzed on contact instead of simply being taken out of play. Clu seemed to think the event was necessary, claiming that if he was foolish enough to not dress properly he could have been a hazard in the field. While I saw truth in his words I still agreed with Tron saying that every program wasted in the games is a warrior we don't have when we may need it.

After Flynn had his mind set on creating the sirens we continued the tour. He saw the rest of the tunnels and chambers, then spent a great long while walking the perimeter of the arena itself. "Place looks good," he said when the tour reached its conclusion. "You really outdid yourself this time boys."

By then Clu had rejoined them. Somehow Clu, though he was the exact image of Flynn when he was created, he seemed stronger, and carried himself with a sort of pride and authority the creator did not seem to have. "Everything is as you expected it, I presume," He said.

"And better." Kevin was silent for just a moment more, "Just one thing I'd like though. I want to see your boys in action. See 'em play."

"I'll send in my best warriors." I promised, "What will the challenge be?"

"Ah, do something I know." He said casually waving his hand. His gaze flicked to Tron who then ordered that the light cycle grid be assembled. The arena floor below them began to shift and change so that multiple levels stacked on top of one another, yet each was connected seamlessly through curved ramps. As it finished putting itself together the creator said, "Cool. Oh, and get three extra bikes ready."

"Three, sir?" I asked a bit confused.

"Yep, four. Us four are going out there with them. I'll take Vintage"

It took a short while to don the necessary equipment as well as instruct Kevin in the workings of the game. He had played this before, but then victory was only gained by completely deleting the other combatants. Being that the four of us, Kevin, Tron, Clu, and myself, were battling against the four best the militia could offer derezzing either team was something we'd like to avoid. A program would be taken out of play if his light cycle was destroyed and no contact was to be made between programs to ensure there was no accidental deresolution. Weapons, such as a disk or my sword was allowed though nothing was to be thrown. Victory in this game was assured by close combat and strategy.

The armor itself I had become accustom to, using it time and time again, but the others had not dressed for the games in a great long while. Perhaps an investment in these sirens would be useful. Perhaps I should cease my doubt in the creator's decisions, rare as they were. He always seems to know what is right as well as what was best.

With everything in place I as well as the others entered the arena. Word had spread that the creator would be competing in the games as well as his four closest programs, leaders of the grid. Almost every program had tried to cram their way into the stands to the point where there was hardly any room to sit. The roar of cheers when the creator stepped onto the grid was deafening. He raised his arms, welcoming their praise. Clu's chin raised as if the praise was equally for him as well. I, though I had heard it before, was still uncomfortable with the sound, and merely gripped the hilt of my sword.

"Greetings Programs!" Kevin said once the crowd began to die down, his voice loud enough to be heard by all and echoed off the walls of the stadium, "Well, this is quite a sight! I could never have asked for something this great: A perfect system!" Again the gathered programs roared. "But, let me tell you this. Tron city has become the greatest system on the face of the earth. And you know what, it's not because of one powerful master control program or some incredibly smart user. It's because each and every one of you do your part. You all have made this system as great as it is." He turned his back as four programs, all walking with visible pride, entered the stadium. The lines of energy that crossed their bodies were a light shade of emerald, same as my own. Clu began to mutter something to Kevin as I looked over the four I had chosen to compete.

Truly the four were the best the Militia had to offer in their own way. Together, for the sake of the game, Kevin dubbed their team Alpha. The one furthest on the left, known by the name Ulrich, was smaller than the others, his form thin and wiry. His eyes were deep tan, like the earth of the users, and his hair the shade of the sky. His pace seemed rushed, in attempt to cover the same distance his longer legged companions did, and his eyes darted around the stadium as if nervous. To any other he would seem as though he was not threatening, as if the moment battle started he would flee out of cowardice. But I knew that to be different. He was fast, agile, and fierce. I had seen him take on four other programs single handed, his confidence never wavering.

The second carried the title Namor, and though he was taller than Ulrich it was not by much. His hair had no existence and he preferred to cover it with some sort of hood – which he could not carry into the games – while the brown of his iris's were so deep they almost appeared black. The bald warrior preferred not to speak most of the time, his language being mostly growls and grunts. But I still considered him being among my best fighters solely because his bulk that he was unmatched. Namor carried the strength of ten programs, capable of accomplishing some of the greatest of feats. In battle I have few times seen his strength to work, but knew through Tron how he had lifted great sheets of metal where machines had normally been required.

Pelanor was the third, and to be honest the oddest of the four. He was not powerful in brawn or agility, but he was sound in mind. It seemed almost as though he had been given the same gift as I, blessed by the creator himself in the ways of knowledge and strategy. At times I had mentioned his vast intelligence to the others, but they dismissed the possibility of another program being gifted without their knowledge. If the users had wanted another program capable of solving the most complex of difficulties surly they would be assigned to share a portion of their duties. Still, that did not keep me from trusting his decisions when he gave them.

The last and final warrior took on the name Grath. He looked as though he was nothing special, His eyes green and hair a pale shade of gold, and compared to the other three he appeared average. But in truth it was this roundness that drove me to choose him. For though he was balanced in every sort of combat, no skill triumphing over the other, he was strong in every one. It had taken me a while to choose him, wondering if I should have picked another who was sound in a single skill. But decided to give him the chance instead. For along with his level abilities was a fierce intensity to prove himself in every thing he did.

"Alright," Kevin said facing the four, no doubt studying them, "Let the game begin!" And with that he turned away and ran to activate his light cycle. The vehicle that formed around him was white, almost purely so, where as Clu's was an orange-red, Tron's blue, and mine, like the other militia we were competing against, green. My gaze lingered on Kevin's bike, Vintage he called it, as it sped away from mine with speed unlike anything I had seen. His gaze caught mine and he smiled before somehow managing to force more speed into the vehicle.

Behind us the Alpha team had started their bikes, Pelanor taking the lead, and circled around to face their enemies. Ulrich held his disk in one hand, carefully steering with the other. Namor leaned into his bike, trying to force more speed out of it. At an unspoken signal the four divided across the grid leaving streams of translucent jade in their wake.

"Alright, got a plan?" I heard the creators voice in my helmet, knowing only the ones on my team could hear me.

"One of them's got to be leading them." Clu told him before I had the chance, "Put him out of play first. Then go after the others."

"Bite the head off the snake," the creator laughed at his metaphor none of us understood though I assumed it had something to do with taking out the leadership and watching the rest of it fall, "I like it. So which one would that be?"

"Pelanor." I told him, "That one there, on the lowest level." I looked town through the levels and there, cutting almost directly below us, was Pelanor. "Tron go ahead of him with clu, see if we can cut him off. Flynn and I will take him from behind." With that said the others divided and I followed the creator's impossibly fast bike.

I watched the creator's movements with the sharp eye of an instructor. He flowed with the bike as though he was a part of it, as though it were alive, a being, and he only the mind that guided it. He never glanced at his bike's wheels or controls, only at the road and his goal. He chose a curved ramp that cut through two levels at once and leaned towards it, the bike, as well as I, following.

On the bottom level Pelanor had changed direction sharply, Tron and Clu on his heels regardless of the fact that my orders had been to be in front of him. Flynn's bike surged ahead parallel to the target. I fell in rank beside Tron. Flynn altered his course slightly, his bike coming closer to Pelanor's with every passing moment. Just before the two were close enough to touch Flynn took his disk and held it tightly, preparing to use it.

He never had the chance.

Quicker than any user's eye could catch two emerald bikes dropped from a ramp above. Ulrich and Grath crossed paths in a great X just in front of the creator's path successfully containing him. A gasp and whispers coursed through the crowd as their maker collided with their trails and his bike derezzed. Flynn himself was thrown clear of the bike and bounced on the grid where Pelanor swerved to avoid hitting him. A split second later he disappeared off the grid taken to a box in the stands, which on normal circumstance would be emptied, where he could watch the rest of the game. Through their facemasks I could see Ulrich and Grath congratulating themselves. Pelanor snapped orders for them to follow.

"Well," I said, all three of our bikes still tailing their leaders, "looks like they bit the head off of our snake first. Any thoughts?"

"We still take out Pelanor."

"No," Tron's gaze left the leaders and landed on Grath's "The other's first. They took out Flynn because we were so focused on Pelanor we didn't even see them. We need to look at _everything_. Besides, if Pelanor is all alone he'll be easier to corner."

"I like that plan better." I curved away taking a ramp to the second level where Namor rode alone, "Each of us pick a man. I got Namor." The massive program saw me coming and twisted into a wide arc. I did the same in the opposite direction. The two of us began to circle, each time around bringing the two of us inches closer. When we were feet apart I drew my sword and held it firmly away from me, my arm extended to its full length. Namor, seeing this, drew his disk. The blade however was longer and with a slight nudge to bring us closer I thrust the weapon into the front wheel. The bike stopped immediately, the back tire soared, and the entire bike flipped. I twisted away, silently congratulating myself. I looked back and realized my celebration was too soon.

As the cycle flipped the entire craft became airborne, but when it fell it did so in such a way that the driver would be crushed between the grid and the bike. I knew that the moment pressure formed on the driver he would be taken out of play, just as Flynn had moments before. But Namor gripped the bike tightly between his knees, and slid his disk back into place on his back. Then with a roar he held his powerful arms above his head just as they hit the ground, somehow successfully catching himself and the bike. With a thrust of his great strength he rode with momentum, pushing off the ground and causing the bike to flip once more so it landed on two wheels again. Above us Flynn's laughter echoed and the gathered programs cheered.

"Grath's down," Tron called and my gaze flicked to where the remains of Grath's bike was disappearing. The program itself had already appeared beside Flynn. Perhaps I should have trusted my instincts in not bringing him."Status?"

"Almost had Namor," I reported.

"Getting close to Ulrich." Above me I could see Clu riding beside him. The elder program was skilled in his attempt to outmaneuver the younger, but each time there came an opening for Clu to take him out of play he danced out of the way with amazing skill. Still on the bottom level Pelanor circled alone, his lips moving almost frantically as he gave orders to the remaining two teammates.

"Tron, see about Pelanor. Even if you can't take him out you can still distract him." There was no response, but I saw Tron change his direction to head towards a unique ramp that spiraled from the top level to the bottom. I resumed my hunt for Namor.

Many moments passed, how many I could not count. Pelanor managed to continue to lead his team through a series of seamless strategies that seemed to be based on our actions. Among my team there did not seem to be a leader. One of us would make a suggestion, we would follow it until it lead to close to our demise or someone else had a different plan. We took on different targets or converged on one only to divide again. Pelanor fed off our lack of leadership and only by hardened skill and reflexes did we survive.

It was through Namor's identity disk that I was taken out of play. Countless times we had clashed, many of them because I was determined to finish what I had started. Out of frustration he threw his disk and with impossible accuracy hit my cycle causing its deresoultion. Before I even touched the grid floor I found myself sitting beside both the creator and Grath. A few moments more Namor joined us, disqualified for his foul play. He knew all too well that ranged weaponry was forbidden on the light cycle course.

While I watched the game I was able to listen to Flynn's comments as well as the others near me. I had never sat in the stands with other programs before so this was a, shall we say, educational experience. The others seemed to have chosen their favorite of the remaining competitors, most seeming to favor Tron, and cheered loudly when something was done in that particular program's favor. Flynn, however contradicted this giving shouts of praise and laughter any time the contestants performed any sort of trick or maneuver a lesser function would have called impossible. Perhaps such was the way of the user, to never favor one more than the other. Perhaps that was how I should be.

The battle continued on for a long while more. Eventually Tron and Clu managed to herd their opponents into a small space then, circling around them in a way similar to what I had done to Namor, drive them into their energy streams. When Pelanor and Ulrich appeared in the stands Tron and Clu dismounted their bikes and returned them to their rods.

The creator stood from his seat and approached the balcony "Now _that_ was some gaming!" He said laughing as he spoke. "You boys made those games in the eighties look like kid's stuff!" Many of us looked at eachother, confused by his terminology, but knowing he had just given us words of praise, "You guys are awesome. You've got the stuff. You, Syrus, you trained them well. Good job man, good job." He clapped his hand on my shoulder and shook it.

"I performed my function well then?" I asked with a lowered head.

"Well, yeah you did." He looked down at a device on his wrist, something I knew was called a watch. "Look, I gotta go. This has been great. I'll send you those Sirens and you set up the guards or whatever it was you were going to do next." He started to walk away. Clu met him on his way out and towards the portal.

"You're leaving?" He asked, "So soon?"

"Yeah, It really hasn't been a short time. I gotta get back to my kid." Flynn answered. He also seemed to ignore Clu's confused expression. As far as I learned a kid was some sort of animal. A being below users. I wasn't sure if I wanted to understand. I turned to brief the Militia on what was to come. Behind me Clu continued to talk.

"I was hoping to discuss a few things with you, some of them may be more important than you realize. Like for instance the Sea of Simulation seems to be acting strangly as of late. It looks almost like there's . . . "

* * *

><p>(Chapter Trivia!) Just random knowledge, I was going to call Pelanor Teira at first and make it a girl, but somehow I like it as a boy better. Pelanor (or Pelly) was the name of a talking owl in a show called "The Magical Laboratory of Nostromus" which used to be in Busch Gardens Europe in old England, before it turned into Ireland. The show is gone now and the only place you can see the show is on you tube which makes me very sad. So now Pelanor is my little tribute to that little chunk of my childhood.<p>

(A/N) 'Nother chapter gone and away. Still hoping you're enjoying this. Come next chapter I'll be true to the characters I listed. Because technically I listed them as being what the fic is about but . . . . it's hard to explain really. Syrus is the main character. That's about as much as I can go with that, but I can't list it as OC under characters now can I? But the other two are important. You'll see . . .


	4. Chapter 4: Gemstones

(A/N) so . . . . basically things have changed _slightly_ since I started this as far as where this is going. Everything that's happened is the same, but the summary's changed just a little. Also the listed characters have changed to not just be Quorra, but Gem as well. The more I think about it the more important she seems to be so that's why she's being put up there.

Chapter 4

Gemstone

The time that passes is not very long before everything is running as it should. The Militia has divided, just as I suggested it should. Half has littered the city becoming sentries and guardians. The rest remain below and within the game arena to continue to grow in their skill. The games have only grown more glorious since Flynns arrival.

Every now and then Tron returned to the grid to take part in challenges himself. Seeing him fight in the games it is only now that I see the warrior that was strong enough to defeat the MCP. Walking in the system, filling out his function in monitoring the other functions, he seemed incomplete. But here, embracing the way of battle, he thrived in a way that no other program could even come close. A few times I drew my blade against his. I have endured the swiftness of his disk, seen the fire of combat in his eyes, especially in clashes that involved melee weaponry. He says he sees the same in mine, though I cannot imagine being compared to one such as him. And in the end, whether our duals are won or lost I always walk away with new knowledge merely from observing and countering his blows. Surly this was a program _meant_ for combat. Why the users chose to have him simply walking the city, inspecting the land to ensure everything was safe and secure I cannot understand. Perhaps I should take the matter to Flynn the next time I saw him.

It was a great while later before we found that Flynn had fulfilled his promise. A room seemed to appear within the halls below the stadium and within it life began to form. I made a habit of passing by and watching as each program began to take shape wondering if I had looked as they did when I came to be. Each program grew into existence differently than the others. One looked to be a floating torso, another a single leg. Each grew as the cycles passed one slow pixel at a time. But when they were completed I stood amazed at what I saw.

The Sirens were programs unlike I had seen before. Their bodies were slender and beautifully curved. When they walked there was a sort of grace and elegance I had yet to witness in any program. Their eyes were bright and shining with life. And as I watched them emerge from their chamber I could only think they were some form of perfection I had yet to discover. I had not felt such awe since I first laid eyes on the city itself.

A single siren approached me first while the rest of her kind remained behind in the chamber. Her skin was as pale white as the walls of the room she walked in, her hair being only a few shades different. Her dark-lined eyes glittered with a beautiful shade of sapphire so pure I felt as though I could not look away. Her clothes, lined with white energy, seemed different somehow than mine or the other programs, as if made with some kind of different material. As if out of some instinct I longed to reach out to touch the garments, but steadied my hand. When she stopped before me she nodded in greeting and I returned the gesture.

"Greetings," She said, "I am Gem,"

"You are beautiful." My words escaped me before I had even known they were forming. Gem's head tilted slightly and her eyes clouded in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," I tried to erase my words, but could not. I was lucky for she continued where she had left off as though I had not spoken, much to my relief.

"I am leader of the sirens. My function is to oversee the armory of the game arena as well as to improve it. Flynn has given me knowledge of the arena as well as the system, but I believe it is limited. It would greatly benefit us if you were to expand that knowledge." I took note of the strange word she had used during her introduction: Armory. It was not one I was familiar with, but being that I knew and understood her function I was able to believe that it was a user's term for the storage place of armor. I did agree it was a fitting name.

"Of course." I agreed without hesitation, "Gather together the rest of your sirens and let us be on our way."

It was not long before the others had joined us. They were, as a group, very odd and peculiar programs. They did not seem to be particularly swift or strong, the two attributes I had begun to believe were necessary for any function to be completed properly. They were, however, very intelligent, able to grasp and retain information from the moment it was given to them. When the tour of the facility was completed Gem was able to recite, with amazing accuracy, everything that had been presented to them. She then led them back to the armory, which we had passed during our tour, and set about memorizing each of the different plates, where they belonged, and what they covered. They also began to modify several portions of the armor to better match specific program's abnormalities such as Namor's bulk.

It was several mili-cycles before Gem returned to me. At the time I wasn't in the arena, a rare occurrence for me. I had returned to the first building Flynn had brought me on, the one that overlooked the city. It was just the same as it had been the last time I stood on this ground, if not grander. The city had expanded since then. The perimeter was wider, the buildings stood higher – though none higher than the one I stood on now – the solar sailor's trails more numerous as more points of interest appeared outside of the city limits. The outlands however still stretched beyond the endless horizon, a blank stretch of empty stone.

The sea of simulation seemed to catch the eyes of most however. Since before my creation it was a vast and dark ocean, a source of energy for the city. I hear that before the city was formed it was once clear and sparkling with crystalline light, but that had all been depleted and drained to power the city. It would continue to feed us with energy for the sea itself never ran out - always producing more as we used it – but the price of it had been to turn this natural beauty into a black mirror that reflected the sky and clouds above as it shifted and rocked with waves and current. The brilliance of the city danced against it making what should have been a cascade of white luminescence across it's surface. But what caused most to look to it strangely was that the light of the city was not all that could be seen.

There, seemingly within the water, a mass of deep orange gemstones had formed. Their exact size could not be determined, but most believed them to be half the height of a program. How they appeared in the sea of simulation was unknown, or what their purpose was. Most believed they were the work of the creator himself, experimenting with the power of the ocean, the flaw being that the creator himself denied any such acts. For the most part the city was content to leave the gemstones alone, out of both precaution and fear. I knew, only through my connection with Tron and no other, that Clu believed it was a horde of the virus's Flynn created us to fight.

But I had not returned to this skyscraper's rooftop to think of floating stones. I had come for a fight against Tron, and so I had it. My defeat was, as it always seemed to be, inevitable. My blade was quick, my reflexes sharp, but his were superior. When the elevator doors opened and Gem stepped forward my eyes darted to her for only a moment. It was more than long enough for Tron to react. Before I even had the time to return my gaze, as well as my mind, to our conflict he had already disarmed me, threw me off balance so I fell onto my back, then thrust one forearm against my throat. The other clutched his disk above me in a position to strike a derezzing blow.

"You were distracted." He noted stepping away then extended an arm to help me stand.

"It was a mistake." I told him, frustrated at my foolish loss, then turned to Gem, "I take it you wanted to see me?"

It took her a moment to answer. Her gaze lay on the sea of simulation, a multitude of thoughts flashing in her eyes. It then occurred to me that this must have been her first time outside of the arena since her awakening. I allowed myself to wait while she composed what must have been scattered thoughts. "The Sirens have completed their function." She reported, "The armory is complete and every plate archived and modifications have been made."

"Of course," I nodded retrieving my sword to sheath it. I could not help but notice how her eyes lingered on my blade until it disappeared within its sheath. A hint of a smile flicked on my face. "I can assume Clu would want you to start helping the Militia as soon as possible. Are they ready to begin now?"

"Yes." There was a hint of pride behind her cerulean eyes. "Although it seems things would work better if there was some other way of preparation for the games."

"What do you mean?" It was Tron who asked.

"It seems Flynn created twelve of us to perform our duties. While that is plenty enough to complete the function it looks as though no more than four are needed to prepare a program for the games in a timely manner." I thought over her words, but before I could answer she spoke again, "We asked a few of the Militia to come to be prepared for the games during the last training round. The results were . . . less than what we had expected. While each of us know what to do and where to get it we lack order and procedure. I attempted to resolve this issue, but with twelve of us it is simply too much."

"Then use less sirens for each program." Tron told her, "you said you only needed four, so only use four."

"Then what will the rest of us do?"

"Take care of someone else." I was the one who answered, but when she looked at me I hesitated before continuing cursing myself for the act. "You said there were twelve of you. If only four of you do one program at a time you could have three programs ready at once."

"More than enough for Disk wars, not enough for a light cycle team." Tron noted, "Clu's not going to like those numbers."

"He'll get over it. We have to work with what the creator's given us." He shrugged then looked over the skyline. Gem, with her message and answer given she turned to leave. Before she had taken a few steps I took a few of myself to catch up with her. Compared to her I felt taller, her head only high enough to reach my chest. Her size – as well as my knowledge of her lack of prowess - made her seem delicate, fragile almost. My dark clothes and skin, despite their outline of green, contrasted against her pure white. My eyes studied her, though not for the first time, although this time I realized that she carried no other weapon than her identity disk. For the first time I felt fear, though I did not understand why, and I took hold of her. She turned back towards me again, a strange combination of fury in her eyes I had never seen. Instead of driving me away – though I did release her – it somehow urged me to not let her leave this rooftop alone. It took her only an instant to recognize me and when she did her gaze softened once more.

"Did I forget something?" She inquired and I shook my head

"No. but I don't want you walking the city alone."

"I'm more than sure I can get back just fine." From the edge of my vision I could see Tron watching us, or more particularly me. His eyes darted back and forth between the two of us before looking back over the city, shaking his head and muttering something I could not hear though I was certain I heard the creator's name among them.

"We don't know that for sure. Things could get very dangerous very fast. I would be failing my duty if any harm came to you."

Her stance shifted and her arms crossed. For a moment too long she said nothing, her gaze moving from point to point returning mostly to the sea of simulation. Though she had likely never seen the ocean before a part of me knew that she could understand that something was not as it should be. "Fine," She finally agreed then slid her arm into mine. I heard a chuckle from Tron as I lead her into the elevator.

As the doors closed behind us and the elevator began its slow descent from atop the skyscraper time seemed to have no effect on me. I was aware of the seconds passing, though I knew not how many there were or how often they came. For the time being all I noticed was Gem. I could have counted the steady breaths she took, the pattern broken only by an occasional sigh. I did not look directly at her though, for fear of causing her to question my actions, though I longed for nothing more than to see her eyes again. I tried to force myself to think away from her, to think of something else, but could not for whatever the reason. Up until this moment all I had known was combat and warfare. But now, now it seemed like there was something else. Like there was something else I should be understanding. I searched for some sort of logical answer, but my thoughts were clouded.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Gem stepped out, I walking beside her for our arms were still linked. She changed our course and I followed, though it was only after I did that I realized I should have asked why. The stadium was to our backs and she showed no sign of going back just yet. She seemed so focused on some unseen goal I doubted if I told her to go back to the arena then she would. Perhaps if I commanded she go then she would, but I did not want to control her. If she went it would be by her own choice.

Through the city streets we walked bathed almost in silence. I wanted so dearly to say something, to hear her respond, but no words could free themselves from my throat. We passed a few of the Militia's sentries as we walked, but even to my own men I could only manage a nod of acknowledgement. Behind us a streak of light lit the darkened sky, the creator was returning, but Gem did not even alter her steps. She marched onward with single minded determination. It was only when our course was clear did I manage to speak.

"Gem, this is not safe." I told her. Before us stretched the sea of simulation. The sound of the water lapping against the shore was gentle, almost peaceful. But the waters were lit by the ginger stones beneath the waves. "You should be going back."

"I want to see what they were for myself." She answered sternly separating from me for the first time. She paced to the waters edge then carefully stepped into the dark waters. My hand flew to my sword's hilt as she gasped as if with shock. Then when she looked back towards me my grip relaxed as I saw there was little threat. She was smiling brighter than I had ever seen before. Her eyes were bright with pure joyous light. The lines of energy that outlined her beautiful formed pulsed with new life. The waters were feeding her with power. "This," She clenched her hands only to open them a few times, "This is amazing! This power, it's unlike anything I've ever felt."

"It's still too dangerous. Whatever's in there could derezz you in seconds. You need to come out of there." She then laughed. It was a heartwarming sound, almost like what I imagined a songbird of the user's realm

"I'm fine!" She called, her voice still carrying its humorous tone. Boldly she took another step forward."Doubt anything could hurt me right now."

She continued on, ignoring my words of caution, until the water had reached her knees. Unable to force myself to hold back any longer I unsheathed my blade and charged after her. The moment the liquid touched my pixels I understood. Limitless power coursed through my body and suddenly everything seemed to come to life, as though before all was dead.

The world appeared the same as it always had, coated with shades of grey and black for the most part, the main sources of luminescence being the cities that peppered the landscape so very far away from eachother. But I had never truly felt the world itself. The pixels that touched the water seemed cold, almost freezing, and the rest warm as I had imagined the sunlight to feel. A wind that blew from further out to sea, one I normally only noticed because of the way it pulled on my hair, felt gentle and soft. The scent of the sea was strong and powerful, heavy with the aroma of salt. Truly it was amazing, these senses I had never experienced before. So great were they that I had almost forgotten of the threat below. Ahead of me Gem stopped to look back and I returned her blissful expression. This was life.

Carelessly I cast my blade to the shore, simply because I did not want to wet it, and waded to Gem's side once more. Once close enough I reached out my hand, feeling as though I expected something to happen though I could not tell what. She took it, her pixels feeling remarkably warm and soft against mine. I was finally able to understand why her clothes seemed so different than mine, it was simply because they were. Before I could close my hand around hers she pulled my arm around her back and stood close to me, her hand against my chest. My bright green energy blended against her white and cast a strange glow over her skin. She was silent, though I wanted to hear her voice.

A long while passed. I did not release her, nor did she attempt to leave. The both of us were so lost in this new world of sensations neither of us knew how to respond. We did know, however, that the moment we walked out of these waters the world would return to the way it was. Neither of us sought after such a thing. And so we remained, the water lapping at our waists.

"Hey!" The voice of the outsider pulled our attention away from the water. Instinctively I drew her closer, as if doing so would protect her. I saw on the shore, on the crest of the sloping sands, the creator along with both Tron and Clu. Flynn stood with his hands at his hips, Clu's arms were crossed and a scowl crossed his face. Tron held his disk tight in one hand, his eyes only for the orbs beneath the waves. "Lovebirds! Come on, you can have your playtime later." He waved for us to follow him.

I released Gem finally then told her gently "We must do this again sometime."

"Of course," She answered and relief flooded over me, as if I was afraid she'd refuse, "But first, you have to tell me what _this_ is."

(Chapter trivia!) for the moment I can't think of trivia so if you think of a question post it in a review or just send it to me and I'll make the answer the chapter's trivia!

(A/N) Glad to see it's actually gotten as far as it has this fast. That usually never happens! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5: Bugs

Chapter 5

Bugs

A cycle has passed.

The city has continued to flourish without fail or flaw. No one has dared to attempt to go near the stones in the sea of simulation and likewise they have not caused us trouble. While we still are afraid and fascinated by them we do not pay as much attention to them as we used to. It seems as though most of us are simply content to believe they are only stones.

The games seemed to be, as they always were, improving. Tron returned more and more frequently and I took part in them as well. Pelanor had done more than prove himself on the field of battlefield more than once. I decided long ago that it would be the program to take my place if I ever derezzed. Even though I never told him of my decision he seemed to already know. I turned to him for advice and placed him in roles of leadership more and more often as time passed.

The Sirens had set to their duty with amazing accuracy. Never did they make a mistake, no matter how many programs they were to prepare at once. When the two groups of programs switched so the sentinels were in the games and vice versa, a time Flynn called "the changing of the guard," almost two hundred programs went through the sirens armory. They had prepared every one in battle armor within a mili-cycle. Even Clu was impressed, something I had not seen in a long time.

I had not managed to spend another moment alone with Gem since our time in the sea of simulation. User knows I wanted to though. On several separate occasions I tried to invite her back to the seas with me, but some sort of duty on one of our parts always prevented us. I satisfied this outlandish desire simply by being able to see her as often as possible though. I wondered if she too felt this strange need to be near me, like I felt with her, but every time I went to ask I thought better of it and never did.

I also never managed to find the courage to ask the creator _why_ I felt these things towards her and her alone. Perhaps I would understand if I felt this way towards the rest of the sirens, or if I saw the same strange sensations in the eyes of my fellow programs. Maybe then I could allow myself to believe that I was normal. But it was only me, and it was only for Gem. Flynn probably wouldn't see the need to look into my abnormal obsession anyway. He seemed so distracted when he came here, rare as it was nowadays. Something was happening in the user's world, something Flynn called a baby. No program seemed to know what it was but by now everyone had seemed to accept that Flynn often used metaphors and idioms none of us understood. I did manage to find that he calls this baby of his Sam.

I took a while to walk the streets of the city. Everything was perfect and without visible flaw. Clu had decided that no more buildings needed to be erected, there was more than enough places of business and leisure as is. Instead his attention had turned to improving what had already been built. Programs walked the streets without care, they had no need to fear anything they had heard in stories or legends. There were no viruses, no soldiers from a mad MCP.

My path took me past the sea of simulation and for a brief, regretful second I wished I had brought Gem along with me. Then looking along the shoreline I was glad I didn't. A great number of the Militia had been stationed there overlooking the water for trouble. The stones in the water had grown much larger since they were first noticed. Their pale orange glow continued without fail however it seemed as though there were some dark mass forming within the stones. The creator had started calling them 'Giant Chicken Eggs' but most other programs still called them the gemstones.

Leaving the sea behind me I traveled the city's border. The perimeter was a distinct line of energy that circled the city. Inside it was light and life, beyond it was baron and dead. When I stepped outside the border line I felt a sort of sensation similar to when I touched the sea of simulation, except the feeling was exactly the opposite. Strength drained from me and weariness pulled on my every pixel. The sword on my hip suddenly became heavier by more than a thousand fold. When I stepped back into the city limits it all faded away as if it had never occurred.

I had paced most of the way around the city, passing a few Militia guards, then stopped as I looked out onto the horizon. The other guards brandished their weapons, whether it be sword or disk, and one shouted orders. I drew my sword then looked to my side. I realized that near me was Velat, one of the most skilled cycleists the games, not to mention one of the fastest. With a shouted order he drew his light cycle then sped to the city for reinforcements. I returned my gaze to the outlands.

A great beast stood on the horizon, It stood on six massive legs and the bulk of its body was the shape of a broad disk. The crest of its back stood high enough that more than two programs would have had to stand on eachother's shoulders to match it. Its head was a strange combination of shapes, round at it's base but tapering into long powerful jaws. Two almost eyes the size of my fist rested on each side of its head and, as far as I knew, there were no pupils or iris, just solid black. A great horn stretched skyward from its nose and two more ran forward from the outside edges of its eyes. It opened its mouth and let out a great roar to the small pinpoints of light in the sky.

"What is that thing?" A soldier asked, his voice holding a mixture of fear and awe. None of us had ever imagined a creature like this.

"I don't know." I inspected the troops gathered along the border to find Pelanor calling his men together. I could not be more thankful to have any program here. He gave his orders to the few soldiers he had with the authority of the creator himself. He wore his full armor, lines of green energy trailing his body, his face shielded and hidden by a dark helmet. In his hand he held his weapon of choice, a long shaft of metal headed by a sharpened tip that was somehow able to bridle pure energy and released it in a powerful jolt when it touched anything. Violet sparks danced around the spearhead that crackled as he spoke. "Pelanor," When I called he stopped mid-sentence to look towards me, "Have you seen anything like this before?"

"No sir." He replied, "Perhaps this is the virus we were made to fight."

"Maybe." I said looking back at the beast, "Lets see if we've trained well enough."

We watched the unidentified program stomp around the outlands, kicking up clouds of dirt as it walked. More six legged programs appeared around it, most of them smaller sometimes by half, until they numbered a good half dozen. The leader raised his head and roared again then swept his black gaze over the Militia. As if by some unseen signal the small army of beasts charged towards us with remarkable speed.

Pelanor was the first to engage them, throwing his spear over the border and into one of the beast's backs. It squealed a painful, unnatural sound that made my teeth grit, but continued its advance. I shouted an order and disks began to fly in an attempt to cut down as many of the beasts as possible before they reached the border. Only one fell.

The moment the monster's feet touched the city their bodies glowed with blue-green energy, absorbing ours wherever they stepped. Every few moments another creature made its way into the battle by coming through the ground. I charged at one, driving my sword into its face, and let momentum carry me past him. My sword twisted in his body as I moved, my free hand pulled Pelanor's spear from his back. Armed with two weapons I began stabbing and slashing at anything I could, but only a few of them fell. The enemy now numbered more than a dozen.

"Rough crowd," I heard Pelanor's voice and I tossed him his spear which he instantly used on a smaller beast. The fiend stopped in his tracks and a tremor ran through his limbs before it fell on its side.

"Could be worse," I twisted my body to be under one of the monsters and drove my sword up into its armored belly.

"Velat has our reinforcements," he reported and from within the city what looked to be the entire militia rode into battle roaring like demons. Among them I saw the distinct blue of Tron and the red-orange of Clu as well as the impressively fast white bike of the creator. A handful of smaller bikes stopped at the edge of the battlefield. At first a touch of furry touched me, a real battle had started and a small band of daredevil programs had come to watch. But when I had more than a moment to look at them I saw that they weren't random spectators come to observe, but the sirens.

"Why are they here?" I asked when my eyes fell on Gem. I fell in beside Tron, his disk was little more than a blur around him as he twisted and turned with trained agility.

"Flynn says they can repair our armor if it gets damaged. Clu figured it'd be helpful if they came along." Silently I cursed Clu and new strength drove through me. How could he be so foolish to bring them here? If the militia wasn't strong enough to hold the line the sirens would be the creature's next target. I could not allow that to happen.

How long passed I did not know. The night was a flurry of blades and flying disks, thrusting horns, crushing legs, and snapping jaws. For every beast I slew, its body collapsing in a shower of sparks, another two took its place. The time seemed to stretch on for cycles, but I never tired. At last Flynn circled me saying, "We gotta wrap this up man."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Get with Tron and your buddy Pelanor. We're takin' out the big gun and without him they can't call for more troops" I turned my eyes to the massive leader. Sure enough every enemy that appeared came from within a few feet of him.

I, along with Tron, Pelanor, Clu, and Flynn surrounded the beast. The four of us simple programs formed a square of security, each of us being one of the four points, while Flynn circled around us in a wide circle to fend off any who tried to interfere. The great beast's head waved slowly back and forth to try to decide which of us to attack. As it lunged for Clu Pelanor threw his weapon, the spearhead burying itself in his leg. It roared in pain and changed targets, charging now for Pelanor. Tron, who was now behind it, threw his disk in a wide arc so it hit his front horn, cleaving it neatly in too. Again he changed targets only to stop as I threw myself at him as well to slice at what was probably his ankle before retreating a safe distance.

And so our dance with the beast began. Each of us baited it into the chase while another attacked from behind. It took several tries before Pelanor managed to reclaim his weapon and when he did he kept it close this time, never letting it leave his hands for more than a few seconds at a time. Tron performed better than I had ever seen him in the games and Clu proved to be an impressive warrior as well. Flynn took out several enemies from behind us.

As it came for me I ducked and rolled out of the way. Clu's disk scraped deeply into its back, but this time it did not turn and face him. Frustrated, angry, and wounded – three things in a beast that always spelled disaster – he continued his charge away from the three. I felt a brief moment of victory as it fled, but it was short lived. The beast continued to run, only five of its six legs remaining thanks to Clu, and lowered his head. He was not running away from the city, but into it. Directly in its path several of the sirens clustered around a handful wounded of militia warriors.

"NO!" Before I even registered what was happening I was on my feet and running. The others were following, but none of them could match my pace. Beside me the creator raced ahead on his bike, leaning to collide with it when he came near. With a powerful flick of his head the beast tossed the creator aside with his broken horn. The bike crashed on its side in a sparking clump of debris. Flynn emerged from the window coughing and waving away smoke.

The sirens looked up from their work, they saw the beast coming. Fear was bright in each of their eyes. Most of them fled in terror simply at the sight of it. Four of them, however, stayed behind in a desperate attempt to rescue the programs they had been healing. Gem was one of the few that stayed behind, sharing the burden of a program with a missing leg with a dark skinned comrade. I saw her gaze flick to the beast as they retreated. Unlike the others she didn't carry the same amount of terror – though fear was still there. Her eyes fell on me for less than an instant and she forged ahead. But no matter how the sirens scrambled they simply did not have the training that allowed them to outrun the beast and their burdens slowed them even more.

The world seemed to move slowly as it finally overtook them. Its lowered head snapped skyward as the tip of its great face came close enough to them. All three of them were thrown into the air as it stampeded towards them. The wounded warrior they were carrying hit the ground and derezzed in a burst of cerulean light as he did. The dark skinned siren landed a good ways away, her body bouncing and rolling to a stop where it lay intact but unmoving. Gem had been thrown carelessly several feet away from her friend, but had landed in a way that caused the pixels in her ankle to crumble on impact. She still scrambled to escape, but now it was impossible. The beast stomped its round feet in victory.

It hesitated for only an instant as disks struck its thick hide. Tron and Clu were near enough to strike. I was close enough to leap. My sword I sheathed before gathering every ounce of my strength and leapt as high as I could. My hands only reached the upper half of its leg. I clung on as tightly as I could, alternating my grip between my legs and my arms as I tried to inch my way upward. The difficulty came from the beast bounding about madly in an attempt to shake itself free. When at last I reached its back I drove my sword into the top of it's dome shaped back until the entire blade was hidden in its hide. It screamed madly as his entire hindquarters began to disintegrate. The defective pixels spread from the injury from my blade until his entire form crumbled into derezzed dust. With its body no longer formed I fell to the ground among the particles.

"Not bad," I heard the creator's praise as he joined me. I retrieved my sword from the remains of the creature and sheathed it. The jade shade of the blade continued to pulse steadily until the sheath blocked the light. "You showed that bug who's boss!"

I took no time to celebrate as the creator did. Behind me a battle was still raging. There was less of a threat, their leader now destroyed, but their numbers were still great. Tron had already turned away from the fallen creature and threw himself into the fires of war. The tide had turned in our favor and the monsters were being driven back. I had almost joined them, then stopped as my eyes fell on Clu.

The creator's right hand stood watching the battle from the edges. His hands were on his hips, his expression showing no more worry than if he were watching one of the games. A strange feeling coursed through me, one that seemed to control my body and force me to act irrationally. I marched to him, my hand gripping the hilt of my sword. When I was near enough I drew the blade, but not fully. The force of my motion rammed the dragon shaped pommel into his ribcage and pushed him a few feet to the side.

"What was that for?" He growled drawing his disk.

"What were you thinking, bringing them here?" I roared at him, drawing my sword the rest of the way and facing him as though he were as much of an adversary as the bugs.

"They had a function to follow." He reminded me,

"You nearly lead them to their deaths!"

"Woah!" I tried to lunge at him then realized I was being held back. I looked to see the creator's hand on my shoulder, "Cool your jets there Romeo. Your princess is safe." I shook myself out of his grip. This urge that gripped me drove me to plunge my sword into Clu's chest. The superior program held his disk, but did not flinch away from me. Only watched, his eyes meeting mine.

"I suggest you remember your place Syrus." He said. Beyond us the battle was ending and programs were beginning to gather around our conflict, "You are a trainer of programs, nothing more. If I call the sirens to the edge of battle they will come. If they hadn't more programs would have been lost this cycle."

I said nothing in response, knowing I would regret my words. I wanted still to strike him down, but could not. Not here, not like this, not _for_ something like this. The creator's words were true after all: Gem was safe, but she had come too close to deresolution and she was still injured. Flynn pulled me away from Clu who was walking away as though nothing had happened.

"What just happened there man?" He asked as he led me away. Now that Clu was further away the feeling dulled, but was still very prominent, "I mean, I've been going around the grid for a while and I've never seen a program get mad like that before."

"Mad?" I looked up at him, unable to identify the word.

"Yeah, you know. Mad, angry, fuming, irate. You cant tell me you've never known what mad is?"

"I've never heard of it before." My sword sheathed I looked at my hands. They trembled slightly from the residual effects of this anger.

"Really?" Fascination lined the creator's voice, "So programs don't get mad? What about any other emotions: fear, sadness, joy? Don't programs feel those?"

"I've never heard of them before so I doubt it." I told him. He looked back at the Militia who were gathering after the battle. Many did not return from the skirmish, many more were injured. Sirens, now recovered from their brush with deresolution, scattered among them healing what they could. The dark skinned siren still lay on the edge of the battlefield, still as stone. Gem knelt over her, one hand on her brow. "Should I know about them?"

Flynn did not answer me right away. His eyes passed over the group of soldiers as he whispered his thoughts out loud. "An entire culture without emotions? Is something like that even possible? If they can't _feel_ then what drives them?"

"We have our function," I reminded him, "We follow that until we are no longer needed."

He shook his head, his gaze falling to the ground muttering something to himself. "This was fun and all," He finally said to me," but I gotta go. Keep extra patrols around the border to keep watch for any more bugs, keep them out of the grid. Put the games on hold if you have to. And let me know if you have any more of these emotions." He walked back to his fallen bike and pulled it back on its wheels. With his touch the damaged vehicle hummed to life and he sped towards the portal. Moments later a beam of light shot towards a pinpoint of light in the darkened sky and I knew the creator was gone from this world.

I looked back to Gem who was helping the sirens now. Her companion had yet to rise, probably beyond what her touch could heal. She now worked with Ulrich, her hand passing over a hole in his leg where one of the bugs had gored him with their horn. I could only wonder about these emotions Flynn had mentioned. Were they what caused me to act so unreasonably? Where they what drew me to Gem more than any other program in the grid? Were those emotions at the heart of what happened between the two of us in the Sea of Simulation? And more importantly:

Did she share any of these same emotions for me?

* * *

><p>(Chapter trivia) The system's bugs are based off the elephant beetle.<p>

(A/N) another chapter done. Hoped you all liked it.


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